You Cannot Do This
by thatflightytemptress.Adventure
Summary: You cannot do this. You don't deserve him. You'll only hurt him. Why is he being so difficult? Please read. it's two in the morning...I can't write a summary right now. But you may like it, so give it a chance? Thanks.


**My ramblings at one in the morning, the only time of day (night, rather) I attempt at poetry. Let me know how it is? Thanks.**

You cannot do this. You beg, you plead with him, no, no, it can't happen again. Please, if he has any soul at all, if he cares for you at all, will he just let you go, let you be happy? You know his expressionless face is there though you can't see it—your vision is suddenly and inexplicably blurry.

A long silence follows your ridiculous scene, which only ended with you on the floor, kneeling with your fingers laced, almost praying that he let you go, let you forget him.

"What would they think?" you break the silence when he doesn't answer. "What would they say?"

And it's true, one must consider the delicate state of things when confronting such a situation. How would the wizarding world react, knowing their savior had dirtied himself in such scandal? And bottomed, too. But that is the least of your worries.

"…please, Malfoy…"

That does it.

"Shut up, Potter."

You stifle a sob, and don't care to look at him. His tone betrays nothing, and the fear of looking up to see rage pales in comparison to your fear of seeing lo-no. No, no, stop it.

You hear him turn away, take footsteps, and you let out the breath that every crying person waits for, the one that signals the end of the self-inflicted torture. But wait.

He's turned around, and you're still kneeling there, concentrating on the pattern in the carpet. He walks over, and the pattern is replaced by his shoes. You look up, confused, and the first thing you see is his kneecap flying into your face.

You fall backward, hissing in pain and glaring at him accusingly, while he drags you up by your collar and pushes you up against a wall, his nose centimeters away from your now bleeding one.

"Shut up, Potter." He repeats himself. "Shut. Up." His tone this time reflects his disgust, his anger, his malice, but most importantly, and what hurts you the most, is his pain. "Don't even try to throw that shit at me."

You whimper, trying to pretend you don't know what he's talking about. At this, he only shoves you up against the wall harder.

"You don't care about them. You couldn't give a flying fuck about them. This isn't about your friends or your fans or the fucking wizarding community at all. This is about. You. And. Me. It's about why, after everything I've done, everything I've said, everything I've made you feel, you don't think this is about anything more than sex."

You can't look at him now, your mind is racing too fast with shame, and you can't even bother hiding it, this fact evident by the way the areas of skin not smeared red with the blood from your nose are of an equal shade, and the tears pouring from your eyes are small only compared to the rush of blood from your face. Or a waterfall, perhaps.

"Malfoy…OW!"

"SHUT UP!" he yells as his digs his knee into your thigh with a sharp jolt. "Don't you dare…don't you…" and he breaks. He starts to crumble, and his iron grip on you falters as his knuckles tremble. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Harry, please forgive me, please, please ,I lo—"

"NO!" You shout in a burst of panic. "No, no, no, please, Draco"—at his name, he gives a particularly loud sob—"don't say it…please…"

"Harry…don't do this to me." And he's no longer pinning you to the wall with his fists but rather with his entire self leaning against you, ironically, for support. "You know I can't…I can't stop loving you."

At his words, you collapse, and now you're a pair of sobbing teenage boys, him because you won't let him love you, and you because he's crying, and in some twisted way, you love him too but you can't, you can't, because everything you love dies, remember? You don't deserve to be loved.

Both of you settle down, eventually, and your tears and his hands have wiped the blood from your cheeks, and your nose has stopped bleeding. And you find yourself in this increasingly common situation in which you are holding each other, and neither of you quite knows what to do next, even though you both have a notion.

"Please, Harry…please, just…let me love you?" He whispers in your ear before brushing his lips in that spot right behind it, and you tremble in his arms, scared, desperate, like the guilty criminal who knows that what he did was wrong, but he can't turn himself in because if he does, he'll die, but oh, that might be better than this pain, this hurt inside.

"You…you don't have to love me back. Just…just… that would be nice, but you don't have to…just let me take care of you, and love you, and hold you when you're tired, and wake up with you, and love you, and kiss you with only the moon as our witness, because the moon, Harry, the moon won't tell anybody. It won't tell…shh…"

And you're rocking back and forth, in his arms, and he's running his fingers through your hair and holding you close, like you really are the whole world to him—no. You can't let yourself think that. You don't deserve this…any of it. Why, then, is it so damn hard to just walk away?

His kisses start on the top of your head, as he inhales the scent of your hair like he never will again, as that may very well be the case, stroking your back as sobs rip through your spine like tiny earthquakes. He moves downward, tracing the tip of his tongue along the shell of your ear, drawing the slightest of cold shivers out of you, interrupting your tears. He pecks at your skin, never staying long, until he's soaking up the tears from your face with those impossibly absorbent lips.

He moves, finally, from every other part of your face to your lips, and this is the moment you promised yourself would never happen, not again. But heaven be damned if you want it to stop. His lips are like a balm to yours, because you have this nasty habit of biting at them when you cry, and his are strangely cool and soothing. Then again, when is any part of him ever not cool or soothing?

You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt the both of you so that you're lying on the floor, him on top of you, and though he's light, he doesn't want to hurt you, never did, and he keeps himself up on his elbows and knees—one of them between you legs, mind you—while still caressing your face with an angel's fingers, and you know they must be an angel's because how else are they so perfect, brushing across your skin with the perfect amount of tenderness?

He breaks the kiss after a while, because you're both feeling quite light-headed, and he whispers again, "I love you Harry, I love you, I love you, I love you, and I will never stop loving you, and I will love you until I die, and probably after that because love like this, Harry, neither the world nor the afterworld has ever seen, and they won't have any choice but to let me keep loving you even after death." His words leave you more breathless then the kiss had, and you stare up into his eyes, and you swear you could cry from the sheer sincerity emanating from those silver pools.

"Draco…no we can't—" you try, to no avail.

"No, Harry, no, please don't say anything. Just let me have this, please, I'm begging you, let me have right now, with you, right here."

His lips come down on yours again, and you forget all the words you had to say because now they're all in a jumble in your head, except curiously enough, they now read, "I LOVE YOU TOO DRACO MALFOY". But you know that even if you tried to say that, you wouldn't be able to.

It's hot, all of a sudden, and your clothes are more of a burden than a barrier. You like barriers, generally. They keep you, but more importantly, the people around you, safe. But maybe, your clothes are both right now.

He's seemed to notice this too, and you feel more than see him unbuttoning you and himself simultaneously—well that's not possible is it?—oops, never mind, _you're_ undressing _him_. Either way, there's less between you now and you couldn't be happier. His hands are everywhere, deftly removing every article of clothing, without once breaking contact with your lips. Thank the gods for button-downs, too, or you might have died without the feeling of clarity/insanity coming from his mouth into yours directly.

His mouth is gone from yours now, though, but it's really not that bad, you find out, because it's gone from your mouth down your body and is now sucking on one of your nipples, and you just _know_ suddenly, that only he will ever be able to do this to you, give you this feeling of nervous ecstasy that you've always craved without knowing it. And now that you've known it, you can't go back. He's a drug that you're hooked on, addicted to, a slave to.

You realize, suddenly, that he's been murmuring sweet nothings this whole time, how you're beautiful and perfect and you must be a fucking angel because how else could you feel so perfect against his skin? Funny, you recall. That seems familiar.

And now, you draw in a rush of air because his mouth is on your most private parts, and his hands are massaging your ass underneath you, and you've never felt more vulnerable in your life—and that's what you hate, isn't it? Being vulnerable? But how…how could you possibly hate this? Because this is it, this is what you've been looking for, perfection in all its glory.

_This is wrong._

**Oh, but how could it be wrong, this is so, so, very right…**

His mouth is wrapped around your length, drawing something with his tongue you know must be beautiful on canvas because it feels so beautiful on you.

_You don't deserve him. You don't deserve the things he's promising you. You will be the end of him, and he of you._

Your body stills, because this is, of course, your wildest fear. He notices, and looks up into your panic-stricken eyes, and he knows.

"Shit, shit, shit, Harry. Shh baby. It's okay it's okay. You know I love you, more than anyone has ever loved before, but you know why? You want to know why?"

**Please, gods, yes, tell me why, please tell me, so I can stop feeling like this…**

He leans back and kneels before you, leaving you whimpering at the loss of his body so close to yours. "I…I can't tell you."

You reel, thoughts rushing back to you, and you feel betrayed, tricked, deceived, manipulated—

"NO! No, Harry, don't think that. Please don't, whatever you do. I can't tell you why, because love, love in itself is irrational, isn't it? No one knows why it happens, can explain it. But…but if you'll indulge me, I can tell you how I know I love you, how I know that I want to spend every waking moment of my life with your in my arms, with no one else."

You wait, listening.

"I…I know I love you, Harry, because every time I see you, I want to take you and hold you and kiss you and tell everyone that you're mine, and when you're with someone else, I see red because it's not me, laughing with you or talking with you or even fucking two feet away from you, because I would give anything, anything just to be close to you.

"I see you, and you're surrounded by people that you're always trying to make happy, and I'm so angry because they'll never be happy, Harry, they never will, until it's too late and they realize that they never fully appreciated you when they could have said thank you, and there's me, and I want to take you away from them forever and tell you, forever, how mind-blowingly fantastic you are, because you are, Harry, you are. You fight this fight for them, and me, I want to fight for you.

"I want to fight for you, Harry, because I don't want you to go through pain anymore, and I wish that I could take every pain from you, whether it be a _Crucio_ or a paper cut, because, Harry, my love, my darling—

"You deserve it. You deserve it, and everything that is good, and more than I can give you, but I'll give you the best of all I have, and if that isn't enough, you can have everything. Because all I need is you."

Draco breathes deeply, as he had said that whole thing in one breath, practically, and waits for your response. Hearing none, he adds, "Harry, please, please believe m—"

You pounce on him, clinging to his hair, as you say gently against his lips, "I believe you, I believe you. Now…show me."

And the two of you fall over to your previous position, and Draco wastes no time getting back to where he was before. And now, he goes lower, and you feel an unexpected rush of cool air in a place where no one—well, except him, of course—has been before, before it is replaced with his tongue. You moan in response…he's never done this before. Suddenly, you feel empty, and you know only one thing can cure your emptiness.

"Please, Draco, no…" He stops in the midst of his sweet incoherent ramblings, confused.

"I need you in me. Now."

He wastes no time and moves up, breaching you, not for the first time, but gods, it feels like the first time. This isn't the fast, desperate sex you've grown accustomed to. This is slow, still desperate, love-making that sort of scares you, but fuck if you don't love it.

He grabs on to your midsection and uses his grip to anchor himself while he pushes slowly in and out, making sure to come in contact with every bit of you, and when he reaches that—

—_spot—_

Inside of you, you could scream like you never have before, because this…sensation, this experience, is something you nor anyone else has ever felt before and lived to tell the tale, because you're sure you must be dying. And so you do. You scream. And again and again when he goes deeper each time, and you never have to tell him harder or faster or anything of the sort because he wants you just as bad as you want him, maybe more, probably not.

And finally, when you find that you've climbed that slope to the edge of a cliff, and you turn back and all the rest has disappeared behind you, you do the only thing left, and you jump.

Your essence shoots out between the two of you, and everything you've ever known has come spiraling out of control, and you don't know who you are or what your name is or anything about anything except for _Draco_. And you hold on to him because he's all you know at that moment in time, that climax, it seems, of your life, and you feel him coming inside of you, filling you so deep and filling that emptiness that he could never fail to fill.

And now…stupor. That wonderful post-coital haze where you still can't remember anything, before reality sinks in, and you are closer to peace than you have ever been in your life. Which isn't saying much, but…still.

Draco pulls out of you gently, but you still feel complete, whole, because he's still there, right there.

And you know now, that you cannot do this. Not without him. You cannot do anything, anymore, ever, without him. On the edge of sleep for the both of you, you mouth more than say in his ear, "I love you, Draco." And you don't care, anymore, if the moon tells or not.

**Again. Hate it? Love it? Reviews pleasee.**


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